


Do Not Ask For Much

by roxymissrose



Series: This Small Dark Place [5]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxymissrose/pseuds/roxymissrose
Summary: The small, subtle, slide towards that place.





	Do Not Ask For Much

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while, and I'm very sorry. I hope there's still some interest for this.

"Jen, what are you doing?" Jared asked, leaning over Jensen's shoulder, hot little puffs of his breath making Jensen squirm and smother a giggle. 

"My schoolwork; I had a little bit more to do than you did."

"Oh. Well, when you're done can we go over to the tech shop? I have some things I wanted to work on, and masterTechnologist said it was okay to come, and you too, of course."

Jensen nodded, "I'll be finished in a moment, unless you'd like to go now?"

Jensen could see the war Jared fought with himself, Mistress had stressed lately that Jared must think things through, before going with his first desires. It was a process, Jen thought, but one that was helping to mature his young master. Eventually it wouldn’t be a conscious thought at all, or so he imagined Mistress's thinking went. Jared would choose the right thing, whether large or small, because it was what a good man did. 

"Finish your work then, Poindexter—but give me a kiss first," Jared finished, dimples flashing with the shy smile he gifted Jen with. 

Jensen smothered a chuckle as he gave his charge a chaste kiss, a brush against his cheek and quick press against his puckered lips. Jared frowned briefly, but laughed after a moment. He kissed Jen's cheek and took a book from the pile on Jen’s desk. Jensen’s eyes followed the movement; he glanced at the desk—he’d had it now for a few months, ever since he’d been ordered to school with Jared, and it still pleased him very much. His own, personal desk. There'd been just enough room in the cubby to tuck it next to his bed, that and a chair. 

Jared flipped open the book. "I'll read until you’re finished," he said, and Jen felt a slight release of tension. He could work on his assignment with all of himself, and not keep a corner out for Jared's wishes. Jared settled back against Jensen’s narrow bed, the brand new book the mistress had gifted Jensen for his sixteenth birthday propped up against his thin chest—The Sword in the Stone.

Jen went back to his assignment, which was making a mock order for the running of a household for one month's time, anticipating a harsh winter—and detailing what were the signs that led to him concluding that the winter would be harsh. It was very interesting, what with being given clues to put together and divine the winter's progress. The math involved came easily to him and all in all, he very much enjoyed it. After a while, he looked up to see Jared regarding him fondly, a warm smile on his lips, and a glow in his eyes. 

Jensen put his ledger aside. He had more than enough time to complete his assignment—right now, Jared deserved a reward for being so good. Normally, Jen would be horrified to entertain the thought he had some ability to award a master anything, but as masterHouseMaid and Mark, Jim's assistant Houseboy had explained to him – _very_ carefully, in bits and pieces dropped subtly into conversation—there was a kind of power a thrall held, just a bit of it. It must seem to be invisible, but it was known—the masters were aware (though they pretended not to be) and every thrall who dealt with them daily, intimately, knew it as well. 

Jared jumped up the minute Jensen closed his notebooks and tossed the book he held aside. "Thank Gods! Finally!" 

He hurried to put his boots on, and Jensen chased after him with his jacket and scarf. "Do you have your gloves?"

Jared nodded, his bangs flying about his face. "Yes, the knit ones and the leather work gloves as as well. Michael said that I had a real talent for clockworks. I'm trying to make a bird, or maybe a dirigible, anyway, it won't really fly, but I'd be happy if it looked like it was flying, you know—"

Jensen did. Jared was actually very good with his little sculptures; Jen saw an artist's touch in them. It was good Jared had MasterTechnologist Michael; 'Tech Michael helped foster the artistic side of dealing with metal and fire—so much a natural part of Jared's personality, Jensen smiled to himself. Strong like metal and running hot as fire, was his master.

* * * 

They reached the steps of the estate's techshop in minutes, due to Jared flying down the path at breakneck speed, leaving Jensen behind—Jen making sure that he let Jared outpace him, just a bit.

Jared tossed a smirk over his shoulder, poking his tongue out at Jensen as he fetched up against the large double doors at the rear of the shop, and banged away at them. Jensen stepped up behind him, reaching over his head to pull on the electric bell.

"No one will hear you over the noise, Jared—it’s still an hour or so before break."

"Oh! Do you think MasterTech will have time for me?" he asked. 

"Yes, Jared, I'm sure of it," Jensen smiled—and jumped as the door suddenly flew open. 

Eric stood there, blinking at Jensen and a grinning Jared. “What—" his eyes dropped and found Jared. "Oh! Please come in, young master. We were just about to test-run a boiler engine—a repair Mistress ordered. After that, MasterTechnologist will have time—" 

He bustled off before finishing his answer, ignoring Jared...a terrible habit he'd picked up from being Michael’s thrall. The MasterTech had no care at all for what was socially correct. He’d told Jensen many times worrying about was was correct and what was not was simply a waste of his time and he couldn't be bothered to correct his thralls when he never remembered the ridiculous rules anyway. 

When Jensen had first met him, he thought Master Michael was the most dangerous kind of master—one who seemed to treat his thralls as friends; demanded that their thralls act like freemen right up to the second they got angry, or bored, or embarrassed, and then took it out on the body of their "friend". But Michael had surprised him by never being that man. He truly was a gentle soul. A little scattered, perhaps a bit of a chatterbox outside of mechanical matters, but he'd truly taken to Jensen, and especially, Eric; he'd never treated him—or any of his workers—as less than freemen.

Jensen followed Jared and Eric towards the shop proper, cutting through the tea room and the offices. Jensen liked the shop best. On each wall were tall windows with leaded glass panes, letting in as much natural light as possible. Tiled floors and walls polished to a glossy finish bounced the light around. Lots of tiny clockworks flittered around the beams and the shop lights pendant from the high arched ceiling—clockworks were a favorite of masterTech, something that he and Jared had bonded over. Jensen was content with his little lanterns and trinket boxes—he left the intricacies of tech work to his master. He skipped deftly around a young boy, just out of toddler-hood, who was pulling a little cart behind him. He was also wielding a broom and dustpan, busily sweeping up whatever little fliers fluttered to the floor as their gears ran down. 

"Good day, sir and servers," he chirped, and Jensen waved back with a smile. He remembered how proud a toddler he'd been, when he'd been tasked with his first real job…. 

Jared made straight for a bank of wooden chests at the rear of the shop, out of the way of the machines and Micheal's workers. He hunted through the multiple little drawers labeled with their contents; quickly fishing out miniature cogs and gears. He turned to another series of chests and pulled out spools of colorful wire, then hurried over to a small section of work table he'd claimed as his own. 

A tall, thin figure flew through a set of shop doors at the opposite end of the shop, shoving a pair of goggles up into a thicket of mouse-brown hair. The lab coat he wore fluttered as he jogged towards Jared, the bits and bobs of metal and glass MasterTech always seemed to have pinned to him jingled cheerfully as he ran. Today, he also had a length of what looked like rubber tubing wrapped around one arm; his struggle to pull his hands out of a pair of long, rubber gloves as he ran led to him pinballing off the work benches before he wobbled to a stop at Jared's side.

"Master Jared—how good to see you! Have you decided—ah, yes, see you've picked the glass and the—got your sketch, have you—oh, very nice. Eric, look here, the boy is really quite artistic. Jensen, did you help him?" Michael smiled at Eric. "Our Jen is really quite skilled, artistically—"

Jensen tried to deny it, but Jared nodded as he sorted out the pieces he'd selected, his head bobbing on his thin stalk of a neck, feet swinging back and forth when they weren't wrapped around the legs of the tall stool he sat on. 

"It's true, Jensen, you're better than I am. I'm good, but you're better." 

Jensen dropped his eyes to his feet, and Michael wrapped a long arm around him. "You're such a modest thing, Jens. Well, how about you run along with Eric on his tea break, and Jared and I will get to work?"

 

Jensen followed Eric out to the tea room, a lovely, quiet oasis in a building filled with constant noise. Thick, Persian scatter rugs muffled the sound of their boots on the oak floor—Jen had a brief, sharp memory of running barefoot across the lovely, thick rugs in Master Patrick's study. 

Eric settled into one of a pair of over-stuffed chairs set near the windows with a heart-felt sigh of relief. He dragged a small, spindly legged table around between their chairs and nudged Jensen gently towards the tea station. As Jensen prepared tea for the both of them, Eric quietly talked to him. "Darn nice to rest my feet a bit. This is a pretty good job, kid, but Mike forgets sometimes that we're not all as energetic as he is." 

He shook his head, practically inhaling the cookies Jen had set in front of him along with his tea. Jensen hid a grin behind his own teacup—had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. MasterTech was at least ten years older than Eric, but Eric sometimes spoke of his master as though the man was a willful toddler. Jen had often seen Eric make the 'Tech take lunch, or drink something; he kept a little box of snacks on his desk just for his subMaster. 

Just after tea was finished, Jared came trotting in to the break room. "Jen, come'ere and take a look! I made something brilliant—I think." 

Jensen strolled over and bent over Jared's hand. Quivering on his palm was a little butterfly, its wings slowly opening and closing.

Jensen clapped a hand over his mouth, startled at the fine work his master had done, before slowly, carefully, touching a finger to the tiny, glittering, clockwork. "Oh, Jared...that's beautiful. Oh, that's really so lovely." 

Jared's eyes danced with pleasure. "Thanks. Michael helped a lot, but...do you think Mother will like it…? I made it for her."

"She'll love it," Jensen breathed. It was really beautiful. The iridescent glass of its wings shimmered as they moved, its tiny antennae flicked up and down. "You'll make her very happy."

* * * 

It was early morning, and Jared was stomping grumpily down the sidewalk, angry because Mistress refused a carriage to take them to school, angry because he was up before the sun, angry because there'd been bacon instead of ham for breakfast. Teenagers, Jensen sighed. They were either wanting to be sleeping, or wanting to be eating, with not much in-between.

They were in front of the school soon enough; Jensen quickly followed Jared, but split from him to dash up one side of the double stairs that led into the school—all thralls, born and indentured, used only that side of the staircase; black squares set into the marble as a sign it was only for them. The stairs on the side Jared used had gold squares set into the stone treads, signaling it was for freemen and masters. Jensen found it a ridiculous waste of money, but of course kept his opinion _strictly_ to himself. 

Jensen followed a close step behind Jared as they crossed a large open foyer, skirting small desks and the occasional early-morning study group. Jensen turned his face up to the bright sky visible through a pieced glass sky-light as they went—he did like the bright, breezy design of the place. At the end of the foyer was a hall of doors; the very first door opened to Jared and Jensen's classroom. 

The middle of the large room held a double row of desks, all belonging to the young freemen and masters. The long table running across the back of the class was for thralls like Jensen, and crowded against the solid wall of the room were another set of desks, set aside for the indentured. 

The final bell was ringing just as Jensen and Jared trotted into class, each of them veering smartly off to their assigned seats. Jensen settled himself in at the table with the other thralls; multiple thumps overrode all other noise as every student dropped their bags under their seats. Jensen opened his blue notebook, and as he did every day, wrote his name and position at the top of the first clean page. 

It was silent for a few minutes, the only sound the unsteady scratch, scratch, scratch of pen tips against rough paper. Jensen's eyes trailed over to the wall where three indentured thralls sat, also diligently writing away in their notebooks—red was reserved for their books. They took notes feverishly—they were tested the same as the freemen and masters were. _Their_ work went on file against the day they'd be free again, themselves, or freed by their parents' release from service.

The blue notebooks, like Jensen's, were for the bornthralls who would never actually advance, never actually graduate—though their work was checked as thoroughly as the free because if a master desired a thrall to have knowledge of reading, of mathematics, then it was their duty to be successful. Assigned the blue notebooks, they were allowed to listen in, if not actively participate, in class. Jensen was diligent in his work, not only because he owed it to Mistress Padalecki, but because for the few hours he was in school, he felt almost free; his greatest concern was the quality of his work. School was…Jensen loved school. He _loved_ reading, loved their assignments. Now that Mistress had formally given the school notice that she'd chosen Jensen to become her masterHouseboy apprentice at some point, his studies were on totally on par with Jared's, with Jensen's having a special emphasis on math. There were also lessons centered on House Keeping. Those were the lessons that were separate from Jared's, the lessons that sometimes cut a bit of Jared's time with him, to Jared's great annoyance. 

Jen glanced towards Jared, who was curled intently over his own notebook. Jensen tapped a pen against the thin, gold stripe along the top of his book—a stripe that signified Jensen had a high rank position waiting for him when he came of age, unlike the other thralls with their solid blue books. He angled his notebook a little out of sight of the others, feeling strangely embarrassed by the thought that one day, he'd outrank every thrall on the estate. 

Jensen was also slightly embarrassed by the furtive glances that Jared cast him from his seat in class—quick smirks, along with the occasional bold wink. Jensen worked hard to balance non-disruptive class behavior with not ignoring Jared. Making a scene in class—a scene being whatever the instructor decided it was—earned punishment that Jared had no control over. At this level, the instructors had stewardship over every thrall in class, and would until the masters reached the seventh grade. Risking punishment for Jared's sake was worth every moment he was allowed in school.

* * * 

Over the course of the long school day, classes changed—instructors came and went. Now, their favorite instructor came swinging into the room, waving his hands and calling out,"Alright, boys—" he hesitated, and tipped his head towards the thralls along the walls. "Nice, straight lines, everyone. Quickly – we're working with class ten and twelve today, and our recital is in three weeks."

Jared and Jensen took their places in line quickly, eager to follow their instructor to the music room. Both master and thrall enjoyed their art and music classes; most children and thralls did. Jensen especially enjoyed their music lessons and the required classroom change—a lovely space with wood-paneled walls and instruments everywhere. The instructor for this class had a sense of humor; little clockworks piped and trilled on the shelves above a large, burled wood audiocon, surrounded by stacks and stacks of record platters. 

Jensen was taken with the music; Jared was taken with a delicate, little, dark-skinned future Mistress, who ran the class as if it were her own. Her voice was truly lovely, and when she sang Jensen threw his heart and soul into listening to her—always sitting still as a stone in his seat against the class wall, his hands folded in his lap and his eyes closed, soaking in her wonderful voice.

Jared was completely besotted with her; he walked with her to her car many times after school, the two of them laughing and whispering together before Jared would leave her in the hands of the indentured thrall who drove her carriage. 

_"Annis..._ she's so pretty, Jensen—just, everything about her," Jared crowed whenever they left her. "Her hair is so pretty, and—and lively, isn’t it; so springy, such a lovely, shining, black—like jet beads. And her eyes, so big and brown, like chocolate coins—" 

_Chocolate coins?_ Jensen had bitten down on the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling that time. Chocolate coins….

Jensen was mostly content to have Jared go on and on about Annis, occasionally nodding when Jared stopped to take a breath. It gave him quite a bit of time to think his own thoughts, so he was rather grateful for Jared's interest in something outside of the estate.

* * * 

As time passed, Jared settled more comfortably into the routine of school and his position in the school hierarchy. Along with his interest in metal work came a growing interest in sports. While he was not quite as enthusiastic as the other boys, he showed enough interest that Mistress gave permission for Jared to join what teams he liked, and signed the paperwork granting a limited guardianship of Jared to the school after hours.

Jared spent a few nights trying to educate Jensen on the "remarkable sport of football", the sport he was currently fascinated by. Jensen did his best to pretend that football was anything other than incredibly boring… and rather confusing. Why Jared insisted on dashing around a field chasing a ball in the name of fresh air when he could be on horseback, with Jensen, instead of Jensen just sitting idly, by made no sense. He sighed. Masters…sometimes they made as much sense as the Fool Master

* * * 

Jensen sat in one overly-warm corner of the covered trailer the school provided to transport thralls; the heat and the steady clop-clop of the Percheron's hooves worked like a lullaby, his head bobbling slightly with the motion of the trailer and his sleep-heavy eyelids dipping lower and lower. He blinked when the trailer took a bumpy sideways slew, sat upright peering about himself and trying to wake more fully. The other thralls talked together, some laughing at a joke one of the older boys told. Jensen was in the strange position of being older than most of them but junior to them, having had less experience with being the companion of a boy. He mostly kept quiet, keeping to himself as much as possible.

Up ahead of them, the masters' steam carriage charged along, not so fast the horses couldn't keep up but at a lively enough pace that Jen imagined that the horses looked rather grateful when the carriage finally pulled to a stop alongside a field. 

The team—which happened to be made up of masters—jumped out, running with their equipment to where the coaches waited. A tall, handsome, young man dressed in odd, knee-length trousers and thick socks, gathered the boys, herding them into lines. A few other young men dressed the same way came out to the fields and fanned out in front of the boys. 

"Alright, you guppies," called the first young man. He stepped forward, idly swinging a metal whistle on a long thong. "I'm Mr. Smith, these here are misters Franklin, Dodge, and Weller. Your coaches. You'll follow our rules, or get gone. We have no patience for slackers or clowns. Do you understand?" He glowered at the desultory response, and bellowed, so loud that the thralls all jumped and huddled together, momentarily panicked. 

_"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"_

Jensen bit the inside of his cheek in order not to smile when the young masters all shouted back, "Yes sir!" with a clear note of fear. For some of them, this might have been the first time anyone had ever raised their voices to them. The thralls all dropped their heads, staring at their toes. Not a one of them wanted to make eye contact with any master. Eye contact—especially with an embarrassed master—forgetting one's place in any way, was an instant path to discipline. 

The team filed out to the field, and Jensen took his place with the other thralls under the sunbreak. The school was remarkably progressive in that respect—in allowing the thralls a covered spot with benches and water, considering that most of them were just body thralls—with the exception of a very few like Jensen, who was a companion, _and_ an apprentice. 

Jen made himself comfortable on a low bench, ankles crossed and weight supported on his arms. He could be casual now, nothing was expected of them. He watched the boys dash to and fro across the green field—none of it meant anything to him, despite Jared's repeated attempts to explain. Master Patrick had had no interest in anything that wasn't art or music, and Jensen could only agree with his late master. Sports were...odd. Noisy, messy. Still, he watched the game keenly, and whenever it seemed Jared did something good, he clapped and cheered for him. 

After the practice, the coaches went off to compare notes, and the boys gathered on one side of the slightly more upscale sunbreak provided for them. They drank water, and nibbled on fruit and nuts that an elderly thrall brought out to them. They huddled together laughing and punching each other, and then one called to his thrall, and then another, and then all the thralls were called out to where the boys stood. They'd idly made a circle in the grass, a few of the thralls inside of it. One of the older boys, a thick-set boy with flat eyes and a mouth set permanently at 'sneer'—Clyde Barrette, Jensen thought—said, "Look what ol' Tim here can do," and with his foot, nudged a boy with faded-blonde hair, washed-out blue eyes; so thin and so pale, blue veins were stark against his skin. Jensen didn't like Tim much. There was something about him that made Jensen feel uneasy. Sent a shiver down his spine, every time Tim got too close.

"Tim, go on, show them what you can do," the fat boy said. Jensen felt a sharp, hard shock behind his sternum as Tim reached out to his master, and slid the sweat-wet shorts down. The boy was already hard….

"Oooo!" A few boys laughed out loud, some covered their mouths, elbowing and thumping each other. Jensen risked a look over at Jared. Jared looked...disgusted. Mildly disgusted. He met Jensen's eyes and frowned, quickly covered by wiping at his mouth. 

Apparently, Tim was good at what he did and moments later, his master shuddered and pushed him away, promptly covering himself. "Anyone else?"

A few boys stepped forwards, pushing their own thralls to other boys as they did. 

"Switch, switch, switch," they chanted and stepped round and round the circle, until one noticed that Jared hadn't actually taken part, or ordered Jensen to move from where he sat outside the circle. 

Barrette planted a pudgy hand against Jared's chest and shoved. "Go on, Paddy, or are you afraaa-iid? Do you not know how to do this, is that it? Does the ittle-wittle baby wanna sweetie from his mum-mum?" Barrette teased, raising his voice to be heard over the other boys' laughter. The thralls in the hot grass shifted, worriedly anticipating being the target of their masters' frustrations. 

_"Go on, Paddy, or are you afraid?"_

Jensen's heart sank. Jared never refused a dare—from toddler-hood on, Jared threw himself headfirst at any dare. And in fact, as Clyde's words seemed to shiver in the air, Jared bristled, glaring darkly at the boys around him. He took a step towards the circle, his glance skipping from thrall to thrall before finally settling on Jensen. 

Jensen couldn't bring himself to drop his eyes—his stomach twisted as he tried to appear unmoved, uninterested in what Jared might decide.

Jared's eyes went tight as he met Jensen's. Jensen's world narrowed to that gaze—the sound of the boys taunting his master faded, he lost sense of the breeze dragging heat over his skin, the rough bench under his palms. His entire self was focused on Jared, on his narrowing eyes, his thinning lips...Jared whirled away to snap his fingers at one of the thralls kneeling in the circle. Jensen's eyes fluttered closed briefly in relief….

Jared hadn't picked him.

The thrall he did choose knee-walked out of the small circle and came to a stop in front of Jared, eased his shorts down. The other masters giggled when they saw that Jared was soft. He cursed; his cheeks going red witn an angry blush. "Get to it," he snapped.

The thrall leaned forward, wrapping thin fingers around Jared's swelling shaft. Jensen sat silent, watching Jared struggle to keep a blank expression, but when the thrall licked along his shaft, tongued the head before taking it in his mouth, Jared lost the struggle. His eyes slammed shut, and the tight muscles of his jaw went slack—he looked momentarily shocked, and then a little scared as the thrall sunk lower, getting most of Jared into his mouth—his breath went ragged, harsh. He reached down and fisted twin handfuls of the thrall's hair and pumped his hips; his mouth fell open, when he let out a soft groan, it sounded so loud to Jensen.

Jensen felt...he wasn't sure what it was he was feeling. He dropped his eyes to the ground and wished he wasn't there. He could hear Jared, hear the small hitching sounds he was familiar with, heard them grow into deep grunts that made Jensen feel too warm and uncomfortable—he'd never heard his master like this before.

"Gods, Paddy, you're hung like a damn horse," one of the boys laughed, a little awe in his voice regardless. Some of the young masters crowded closer to get a better look. The rest of the boys giggled at it all, but giggles and catcalls wound down into silence when Jared let out a hoarse shout.

Jensen turned a bright red, and wished even more fervently that he was anywhere else but here on this field, in the too-bright sun, finding out things he'd not known about his master before today—that Jared liked that thing the thrall did, that...he hadn't made _Jensen_ do it. He was thinking about that when a hand clamped on his collar, yanking him forward. 

"C'mon, Paddy, let's get your pretty toy in the line. Everyone has to share."

Jared shoved himself back into his trousers with a grimace, then knocked Clyde's hand off Jensen. "No. Not today—" but before the boys could argue, their coaches were back. 

"Everyone, load up. Let's go."

They dashed to their place, the boys to the carriage and the thralls to the trailer. Jensen caught Jared's eyes and smiled, grateful. The smile he got back was tentative...it faltered for a moment before Jared finally smiled back.

Jared found a way to avoid the circle, taking Jensen to the far side of the field after team practices; pretending he was angry, yelling nonsense as he marched Jen away, once even hitting him—or what looked to be a hit from a distance. They both tried not to laugh as Jensen played it up, throwing his head back and clapping a hand to a totally untouched cheek. Jensen enjoyed having a secret with his master, enjoyed having Jared take care of him. 

Eventually, the boys were caught out and got a severe talking to about a master's responsibilities, how they were always to be an example of proper deportment and of civility to those less privileged. 

Jared snicked through the entire dressing-down, and whispered in Jensen's ear, "Blah-blah-blah, keep your snake in your shorts and out of the servers."

Jensen dropped his head to cover s smile...it might have been a cynical observation, but not a lie at all.

* * * 

Jensen huddled under the sunbreak with the other thralls, thankfully for the last time—Jared had decided to give up sports for the rest of the school year and concentrate on the arts instead. Sweating, running, and being in the company of spoiled, little-boy masters appealed to him less and less. Annis—the oh-so-wonderful, oh-so-magical curly-haired girl, had turned to acting, and Jared was convinced that acting had to be a much better way to spend his time. Jensen heartily, though silently, agreed. While not totally pleased that Jared was turning to acting just to follow the girl—and not really sure why it bothered him as much as it didl—he was glad to be away from field sports for a time.

He idly watched the boys doing whatever it was that needed to be done with the oblong leather ball, all screaming and dashing about with vigor. He smiled and cheered when Jared ended up on the top of the boy-heap instead of under it. He sprang up and waved wildly at Jensen before dashing down the field again. 

"You think he loves you, don't you? He doesn't." Tim, the pale, washed-out sketch of a boy sneered, his expression a pale, thin copy of his master's. 

"I don't...I think...I know he cares," Jensen said, and chased any tinge of doubt out of his voice. In whatever way Jared did, knowing that he cared for Jensen was never something Jen doubted. 

The oldest thrall, a boy of maybe sixteen, whose master treated him like a brain-damaged spaniel, smiled sadly. "You know, I think he does, you poor thing. I'm so sorry…"

"Why ever should you be sorry, Aldo? That he does—I mean, if he does—that's a good thing, isn't it? I'm very lucky to be a part of the Padalecki estate. I'm luckier if he loves me."

"I like you, Jensen," Aldo said. "I hope everything you think is true, really is. I hope he treats you like something precious." he smiled and cupped Jen's hands between his own.

A ball flew through the air, smacking against Jensen's head so hard he saw stars, and tumbled from the bench to the trailer floor. 

"What the hell are you thralls doing in there?" 

It was Clyde, angry and as always, taking it out on the ones who couldn't fight back. "You don't touch what doesn't belong to you," he shouted. He snatched up the ball, stood over Jensen with the ball held high, getting ready to bring it down on his head again.

Jared was there in the blik if an eye, hanging off Clyde's arm for dear life, though hardly moving him. Jared was as tall, maybe taller, than Clyde, but really, woefully thin. He wobbled on his feet as the boy tried to shake him off his arm. "Don't you ever lay a hand on Jensen again, you bastard!" he shouted. 

"Keep off, you too -good for-everyone puke." He flung Jared to the ground, laughed when Jared leaped to his feet, his hands balled up in fists and his lip stuck out, fury making him shake. "What are you going to do, fight me, Bean Pole? I'll snap you like a twig."

At Clyde's words and the other boy's laughter, Jared instantly calmed. He took a step back, and with a little smirk, he dusted himself off. "No, of course not. I'm not stupid. But I will tell my mother about you, Clyde, and what an oafish, little beast you are."

Clyde went a little pale. The Padalecki's were much higher in social standing then the Barrettes, and both the boys knew that if Jared did tell his mother, there'd be repercussions. Patricia Padalecki was the leader in many things—church, politics, charity. Her disapproval was a death sentence on anyone's social status. Jensen wasn't certain he wholly approved of Jared using his mother's name like that...but it was probably better than getting his cheekbones rearranged by Clyde and his friends…Jen sighed. He really had to let go of toddler Jared someday.

Jared smiled at the way Clyde folded, then startled when Jensen, despite how hard he fought not to, let a whimper loose—his face was on fire. He'd been hit so hard, it split his lip. Jared pulled Jensen from the trailer and dragged him with to the carriage. He was stopped by Clyde, the beefy young master still angry with Jared's threat.

"You know thralls aren't allowed, and besides, there's no room for it." He sneered, then yawped when Jared casually pushed him over the side of the carriage, 

Looking down at Clyde laid flat on his back in the dirt, Jared calmly informed him, "There's plenty of room now that your fat ass is on the ground."

* * * 

All the rest of the day, into bedtime, Jensen felt like he was floating on air. He felt valued, he felt truly cared for. Aldo was wrong to feel sorry for him, when out of all of them, Jensen was the lucky one.

After giving their goodnights, and settling in bed, Jared pulled him close and fixed Jensen with a soulful look. "I'm sorry Clyde did that to you. I'm sorry that all this has happened." Jen's heart grew warmer. "I'm so glad Mother bought you, Jen. You're the very best of all my treasures." 

He sat quietly for a moment, concentrating on something or another, and then, slowly, hesitantly, he pulled the hem of his sleep shirt up past his knees, stopping at his thighs, "Jen, if you could...will you?" He grabbed Jen's hand and pulled him closer and lifted his shirt to his waist. "Please?"

Of course, he would. Jared didn't even need to ask. This was such a small thing—he reached out to touch, but Jared stopped him. Tugged on a stray curl, pulling Jen's head downward as he tugged. "I don't want...not...not your hand…" He blushed deeply, but pulled harder at Jensen's hair. "With your mouth." and then quietly added another 'please." 

Jensen's heart stumbled. He smiled weakly. "Of course, I will. I'm to take care of you, right? That's why I'm here."


End file.
